


carmen

by Eya_Silvers



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyswap, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-RE6, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eya_Silvers/pseuds/Eya_Silvers
Summary: “Leon?”Her own face stared back at her. It gave a jerky nod.“Ada.” Leon said back and it was a female voice, but deeper, and raspier. “Just making sure, but ー this is definitely not normal, is it?”“It’s not.” Ada said, careful. “It’s not supposed to happen.”(in which a mission does not go as planned, resulting in Leon and Ada switching bodies)
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Ada Wong
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	carmen

**Author's Note:**

> This has literally been sitting in my drafts for a year and a half. If people do like the idea, I'll add more chapters! For now, enjoy the first chapter <3
> 
> PS: not a native speaker. If there are English mistakes, feel free to blame me.

Leon ogled the literal  _ fountain of champagne  _ for far longer than necessary. The smell of the liquid honey assaulted his unaccustomed nostrils. He’d always preferred the stronger alcohols, vodka, and her best friend whiskey, that he often kept in a flask in his breast pocket in case he came to miss the taste on the field. Gingerly, he took a glass, finger rubbing a cercle at its edges as he looked through it, through the bubbles floating up and the twisted, golden faces of the guests at the venue. Golden earrings and golden chains. Golden watches strapping pale wrists.

White collars, black ties.

Locking a finger at his own grey collar, Leon pulled on the bowtie while keeping an eye on his client.

Being on security detail got him on edge. Watching over someone got him on edge, period. Taking care of someone. Taking a liking to someone. Then, the fear of losing them. He’d known way too often that being a guardian came with the emotional ties, and the separations that came after caused him to come home to a tiny apartment and its cold beers and a broken heart and a broken mind… He’d lost count of the failed jobs and the fallen clients. Allowing people in was something he didn’t do anymore. He refused to fall back into that trap.

Leon was stressed. But then, if he were too confident, he wouldn’t be as efficient, would he? The DSO wouldn’t have taken him in otherwise. He’d be another spawn of the army, chewed up by the battle. Here, he was actually in control of who he worked for. And he could help people.

He hadn’t gotten invested in a client’s life since President Benford.

Today’s mission was wearing a black and white tux 一 the rich man’s supersuit 一, an extremely expensive Rolex watch that a simple breeze would break, and his tiny and pretty young mistress around his arm. She had to be no more than 25, Leon thought, and in it for the money, he hoped. Everyone in here was in it for the money. Leon was no different. He had taxes to pay, liquor to buy and a shitload of emotions to repress. It had gotten difficult, recently, to be able to find sleep without downing a few glasses beforehand. The nightmares came, but he’d learned that they spared him when he was wasted. He knew what was in them, who was in them. He knew that he didn’t have the strength to face her again.

Leon took a sip, looked down for a second at the ridiculous luxury of the encrusted glass in his hand and set it aside. His client was balls deep into a conversation with two other men. His female conquest was looking off into the distance, looking awfully bored in a way that mirrored Leon’s feelings to the letter. He felt a pang of empathy for her for a second, and he found himself daydreaming about being stolen away from this oppressive venue that left a sour taste in his mouth, the taste of old age and corruption and whispers in crooked ears, so far away from his world of honesty. The young woman came to as Leon’s client spoke to her, or rather, spoke of her in a laugh that meant something else than what it was. The man squeezed tighter around her waist and she smiled like she had been trained to smile to men this way her whole life.

The girl was merely a trophy, really. Leon didn’t need to worry about her, as she wasn’t the potential target tonight, but the remnants of his heroic soul screamed protection. She wasn’t the one that was cheating on her wife, neglecting their four kids, the youngest of which was two. She wasn’t the one that sent money over to Switzerland, pretending European vacancies to clear the green there, making stops to check the brothels out on the way. She wasn’t the Minister for Defence, shielding the entire United States and its free citizens against the terrorist agenda and B.O.W.s.

Clifford Jones was no Derek Simmons, but damn if he didn’t remind Leon of the man. He was rich, arrogant, and a white nationalist, exactly the type of person Leon wouldn’t hesitate to shoot in case of a virus outbreak... yet he was operating for the greater good, a positive future for their country. The stakes were high for this protective detail. If Leon failed, he failed America and everything he stood for.

He had personally revised the list of the guests present at the event this evening. He’d checked their background, their criminal record and their private life, he’d learnt their names and their plus-one’s names, checked every plus one’s identity while he was at it. It had taken him a month of thorough research to prepare for this.

Leon was readier than ready

Leon was bored as hell.

“ _ How’s the food? _ ” came a voice inside his ear, and he raised a hand to negligently twist his lobe.

“Haven’t tried it yet.” he replied discreetly, glass close to his lips before he took another sip. No, really, if he once liked soft alcohols, it was a thing of the past. “I had breakfast, thank you.”

He heard Agent Harper’s small laugh, and tried not to smile. He had missed going on missions with her. It was their first time since all that bullshit with Simmons, and she’d just recently gotten out of the training and the psychology exams for the DSO. Apart from having the temper of a pitbull with a toothache, she was a professional. Tonight, Helena was lying down with a sniper rifle in hand on the rooftop of the hotel that was going to house them tonight, coincidentally and luckily right in front of the venue.

“You got eyes?” he checked quietly, eyes darting over the guests, taking in the faces linked with the names embedded in his brain.

“ _ I do _ .” she said, and she sounded focused.

“How’s the emergency team?”

“ _ Playing cards downstairs. But, hey, ready at your signal. _ ”

“That’s reassuring.” he sassed with no bite.

“ _ Ugh, I hate those missions _ .” Helena then said, voicing his thoughts. “ _ Not that I wish something would happen, of course, that’s a damn terrible wish to have. But it wouldn’t hurt for the DSO to give us other missions. You know, one where our talent isn’t wasted at the service of an asshole. Especially your talent, Leon.” _

“Initially, I’m a bodyguard,” Leon said, “it’s what I do. We’re doing something important, here.”

“ _ Well, at least you look fancy. Put me in one of those dresses these women wear, and I don’t think I’d come out of the bathroom once. Clean tux, Kennedy. _ ”

Leon smiled briefly. He pulled on his bowtie again.

“I’ll go blend in.”

“ _ Covering you. _ ”

He took in a breath and a few steps into the chatting crowd. Avoiding a waiter and their plate full of aperitivos, he abandoned his champagne somewhere he would never see it again and strategically placed himself by a column, behind Clifford Jones and his plus-one. The man was still talking with the other two, all of them black and white ties, unrecognizable from each other if it wasn’t for Leon’s memory. John Hunter and William Ray, two employees of a lower level, but seemingly important enough for Jones to give them an obliging ear. From there, he could make out bribes of their conversation.

“... almost time for the presidential elections. Can I ask who you will be betting on? In my opinion, Belkacem doesn’t stand a  _ chance _ .”

“Hell no, no, not Belkacem,” Jones said, and there was laughter from the three, the woman politely imitating them a second off beat. “Trevor’s where my money is at. He’s totally blown me away and his score with the popular polls is something I’ve never seen before. The media criticizes him, but what doesn’t the media criticize? Vultures, hungry for hoaxes and lying headlines. Trevor wants America’s independence back and, contrary to Benford, he is actually willing to put an end to the foreign threats before they can put an end to us. I call this a leader.”

Static played in Leon’s ears. He turned off the noises of the conversation and focused back on watching the buzzing of the crowd, covered in black and honey. There was a sudden rise of applause that made him straighten, nerves pinched and eyes alert, but it was just the orchestra taking its spot on the stage.

He watched as the opera singer, a woman in her old forties, settled at the heart of the scene. Soon, the room fell almost silent, and the hum of the conversations died down to hushed whispers. Then the piece started, and Jones stepped away from his plus-one to offer her a hand. They waltzed to the dance floor, Leon following discreetly. He stayed at the outer of the ring with other guests as they watched the couples dance to  _ Carmen _ ’s  _ Love is a Rebellious Bird _ .

That was when Leon saw her, a figure opposite him, staring right at him through the gold and the black.

All red.

He watched her for a while. His mouth fell agape and his eyes widened, locked on her and that crimson dress. It was falling to her feet, barely covering the black stilettos, silk draped around her hips. It showed off the curves in a way that was too daring for a fancy place like this, as the dress tightened around her waist to finally expand to her breasts in a low v-neck. It had Leon  _ look _ , and  _ fear _ , for longer than he should. She tilted her head up when she saw his eyes on her. Her short black hair caressed the blade of her jaw, complimenting the porcelain of her skin. Her lips were colored of a dangerous crimson. She looked exactly like when she’d left him last. That damn smile, knowing and teasing, was there too.

Then Ada Wong turned around and Leon lost her in the crowd.

He breathed out.

“Fuck.”

Helena instantly picked up on that.

“ _ What’s going on? _ ”

“Noth…” he started to say, then he stopped, because Helena knew, about her and about them, and he had always been a terrible liar anyway. “It’s her.”

There was a moment of silence.

“ _ Her? You mean… shit. What could she be up to in here?? _ ”

“Nothing good.” he replied, already looking around and pushing past people while keeping an eye on his client, which was a real eye strain. “I’ll do something about it, I just gotta…  _ hmph _ . Find her.”

“ _ You’ve lost her?? _ ”

“No, I… yeah, I have. Don’t worry, I’m working on it.”

“ _ Jesus fuck, if this blows on us… _ ”

“She wouldn’t kill Jones.” he said, and that was a finality that closed their argument because suddenly

Ada was at his side, and her hand was stretched out to him, a glint in her eye and a smirk on her lips. She was more beautiful than she’d ever been.

And, just the same as forever, she was killing him.

“Spare a girl a dance?” she asked, sultry and hauntingly up to something.

Leon took her hand. She was soft and warm. She was a dream that lulled him to the middle of the ring. She coiled her arms around his neck, as he enveloped her waist in his hands, big enough to wrap her whole. Not once did she leave his eyes. Not once did he leave hers either.

“What are you doing here, Ada.”

“Skipping the foreplay, huh.”

A step forward, another backwards. Her hips were achingly close to his, chest tickling at his chest. There was nothing else, and no one else in the room, but them, and he allowed himself to let go of the client. Helena had the room in her scope. Time had stopped for all he cared.

“Whatever you’re up to with Jones, I won’t let you.”

Her smile reflected in her eyes, in one of her rare moments of honesty.

“Clifford Jones?” she repeated in a little laugh. “The Minister for Defence? Leon, you’re mistaken. I don’t care about him.”

“Oddly enough,” he said, “I’m not buying that.”

“Look around. This venue is filled with people that make others do their dirty work. There isn’t anything but a bag of cocaine that I could steal off them.” 

Leon snorted.

“What are you here for, then?”

As a response, her smile grew larger. How naive of him, to expect anything more from her. She had never allowed him to be too hopeful. Sometimes, he happened to be lucky, but most of the time, he had to dig in to get the answer. It always ended up being one that never appealed to him.

Tonight was like most times.

“Couldn’t I just want to see you?” she said, the lies leaking under the mask.

“You don’t generally want to “see me” in public, Ada.”

“Why not? A little danger is what makes this fun.”

“Except you’ve always been way too careful to do that. Wasn’t it what you said? ‘It’s risky to come out into the light,’ or ‘I’m not stupid enough to sacrifice my freedom for you,’ something along those lines. No, Ada. You’re working.”

The spy didn’t miss the next step, but her smile did falter. He felt a surge of pride as he knew he’d overpowered her act. All those years down the line, and she always forgot he could read her like he was hers, empty but warm sheets in the waking of the morning, memory-foam mattress with the shape of her curves, a forgotten letter on the nightstand.  _ Until next time. With love, Ada. _

“And so are you.” she replied softly. She brought her face closer, hands interlacing behind his neck, fingers twisting in the hair he kept there short. Her chin took support on his shoulder like a TMP stock, and she whispered, lips close to his ear: “You should watch over your protégé.”

Leon took it as he would with a bullet. “Is that a threat?”

She shifted to look at him, all traces of joy gone.

“No.” she said. “No, it’s not. Why would…” and she shook her head, briefly looking down. “There is going to be an attack tonight, and the man you’re protecting might be the target. Might as well watch your back.”

“Thanks for the info.” he sassed. “And who’s this person that wants Jones dead?”

“It’s not that easy.” she replied simply, and so he knew she’d leave him with that. “But what I will tell you is that it could be dangerous. Not just for Jones.”

Leon looked for her eyes. He knew them by now. Years ago, he used to spend hours, searching in them, always deeper and further inside, and her eyes always ended up being a different color. He never could settle on a shade, as she was ever so changeable, ever so unpredictable.

He knew who she was now.

Leon let out a fake gasp.

“You don’t know what it is.”

Ada’s jaw was locked.

“I don’t.” she admitted painfully.

“Not fun not knowing.”

“I’ll find out.”

“You’ll steal it.”

“You won’t stop me.”

“I’ll try.”

“Never change.”

His gaze hardened on her. For her part, she softened, loosening under him as her eyes gave off something he could not quite pinpoint just now, like sorrow, or regret. Or disappointment.

“But you did.” she said. Her voice was low now, quiet on his jaw. “What happened?”

He didn’t reply.

Her hand was a bird that took nest on his cheek.

“You cut your hair.”

“I gelled it back.” he replied.

“No, you had it cut too.” And Leon had, that was true. Sherry had continuously kept sending him hair clips through the mail, saying it was a “subliminal message”. That, and he’d felt like it was time for a change. “I liked it before. It suited you. Why?” And then she repeated, on the exact same tone, like she didn’t know that he’d already grown past that: “What happened?”

Leon shrugged. “An opportunity. And time.” He looked back to his client. His job. Staying as the professional he was.

“Go.” Ada urged like a finality. Leon firmly pressed his lips together. She was right. They both knew deep inside that they were a match that should never have been, and that never will be. They had had time to fix this, and they hadn’t. Now, he only had her to blame. “See you around, Leon.”

Ada uncoiled from his neck and stepped away from him, a flutter of eyelashes before she blended in the crowd. He didn’t watch her go. He knew her back by heart, having called for it too many times to count, no success at all.

Despite knowing her, Leon was sure he would never  _ understand  _ her.

He’d never understand why she did the things she did. She was a thief, an assassin, a mercenary, but most importantly, a terrorist. She was working for the bad guys, invisible entities that threatened peace itself in favor of corruption and war. To what end? Money? Monopoly? Power? None of those would matter if the world came to an end; what fortune could there be, to annihilate everything that was, in profit of being the sole survivor? Loneliness was a killer.

(Leon had tasted death before.)

He couldn’t put himself in her shoes ー wouldn’t. He’d tried, empathetic heart working hard to relate, but over the years it had just gotten harder and harder to. Now, he had simply stopped trying.

A new wave of applause announced the end of  _ Carmen _ . The eyes turned to the singer and the orchestra, sending them smiles and cheers as the artists bowed in sync. Leon stepped back into the shadows behind his client.

“Oh yes.” the man said then, only noticing his presence. He smiled to his two friends. “I forgot he was there. But then, that’s part of his job and that’s why I’m paying him the bucket, eh? To stick to the dark. What was the saying, the one with the kids…. seen but unheard. Or better yet, not seen and not heard.” And he let out a small laugh, annoying and high, devoid of humor. “My bodyg–“

Ada was at the very first line at the front of the stage when his eyes caught her. She wasn’t looking at him, not just now. She was looking up at the opera singer. This woman, long black curls, twisted brow, had her arm raised up, up in a perfect right angle with her neck. And she was pointing directly at Jones.

Helena’s voice screamed the warning into his ear a millisecond before he reacted.

“Get down!” Leon said.

Ada, the closest to the singer, sprung.

The shot was fired – he heard it, a second before the clamor, and he couldn’t say who was hit for a while before he pulled out his gun in a swift motion and swung around from Jones he had just tackled to the ground. Ada was on the assaulter – but the orchestra was moving too.

“Helena!” he yelled while Jones screamed. “We’re gonna have to get you to safety.” he snapped shortly before Helena answered.

“ _ Leon?? I see a goddamn mess, shall we go in? _ ”

“Send in the rescue team!” he barked, crouching next to Jones and gun aimed at the stage.

The realization sank in.

He’d forgotten to check the musicians.

They were a good twenty, instruments thrown away in favor of knives and other sharp tools, and Ada was alone. He saw her, living tornado, ducking and dodging and rolling under the attacks that could cut her throat in a moment, shedding red in front of him, the kind he couldn’t bear to see. His eyes flicked to his client. The man was still lying down and his girlfriend had joined him, even if almost everyone had already fled the scene. The girl seemed really keen on gaining that money.

“ _ Is anyone hit? _ ” Helena asked again. “ _ Are you okay? _ ”

Pushing Jones by the shoulder and giving a slightly gentler nudge to the girl, he urged them to hide behind a pillar, away from the fight. There, he checked them both.

“Have you been hit anywhere?” Leon asked. The sounds of the fight further away cancelled his concentration.

_ Ada was in danger _ .

“N-no…” Jones babbled, panic striking his features. “I don’t think so… I think I’m good!”

“Miss?”

But the girl was staring at Leon, eyes bulging out of her head. Slowly, she raised her hand and pointed at him.

There, under Leon’s collarbone, was planted a needle.

He seized it out of his skin. It had broken the barrier of cloth and ended up merely an inch above the bulletproof vest under his shirt.

Leon let out a swear.

“ _ That doesn’t sound good, Leon! _ ” Helena replied, panic striking her voice as well. “ _ What’s going on?? _ ”

“Ada is single-handedly fighting an orchestra and the opera singer gave me an non-consensual shot.” he resumed, and he glanced behind the pillar. He swore again.

Helena echoed him.

“ _ What the hell, are you okay? _ ”

“I’m fine, I just…” and he looked at Ada again, saw her situation. All blood left his face.

“ _ My team should be here any second, can you move? _ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _ Then go help her! _ ”

He turned to Jones, who was looking at him with a look of pure terror that read ‘please don’t leave me I don’t wanna die’. Then he turned to Ada just as a knife swung horrifyingly close to her calf.

“Helena, I –“

“ _ Goddamnit Leon, just go!! _ ”

Jone’s mistress hadn’t stopped staring at him, eyes unblinking and tears drying on her cheeks. She was a blonde. Hair that was probably long if detached the pretty hairdo she had. Her dress was of a pretty blue. She reminded him of Sherry, and he was not prepared for the wave of affection that washed up all over him.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Leon said, gently, to the girl and to her only. “I promise.” And then he turned away.

He caught up to Ada and threw his fist at the first artist he saw. It connected with a jaw, sent the man knocked out on the floor with the satisfying pop of a broken bone. Fiery and rageful, Ada whirled around to him. She flashed the hint of a smile before he could see it.

“Is that gun going to stay in your pocket or is it something else I should know about?” she taunted, and Leon ducked just as she swung a leg above his head, kicking a man in the throat. There were already only four more to go. Ada was a hard-worker. The main singer stood in the back, unmoving but watching, which was menacing enough on its own.

“They’re human, I’m not killing them.” he replied to Ada, panting. An attack was blocked with his elbow, and he responded to it with a foot at the back of a leg. The man fell to his knees and Ada slapped his knife away right before Leon finished him off with a strong fist at the temple. “Ada, you're injured.”

Her thigh was bleeding, dress slashed open the entire side of her leg, as well as her stomach, revealing the white skin underneath.

“Worry about yourself” she snapped, and the second after, she was high above her assailant's head, using their shoulders to propel herself somewhere else. “Deal with them!”

“You’re welcome!” he shouted back, annoyance twisting his mouth. He ran up to the guy she’d used as a gymnastic bar. His body left the ground as he swung both feet at him, hitting him square in the chest with a noise that announced a few cracked ribs. Getting back up in a thrust, Leon merely avoided a knife to the throat, which stayed planted, still vibrating, on the floor of the stage. He ducked under a new hit, took ownership of the knife and stopped another blade from tearing through his trachea. Now it was a two vs one.

“ _ The rescue team has Jones and his plus one _ .” Helena said in his ear. “ _ How’s it going on your end? _ ”

The last two opponents threw him scowls. The one with the blade toyed it between his fingers as they slowly approached Leon.

“Oh, you know.” Leon said, arching a brow. “Just another day.”

“ _ Take a step to the side.” _

He obeyed.

The man with the knife dropped to the floor, clutching his knee rendered to pulp by the sniper bullet.

Leon spinned to the last one. The last one spinned to Leon. Then he threw his hands up in the air.

“Surrender!” he said in a strong Russian accent.

“Finally someone who’s reasonsable.” Leon grunted, and he slapped him hard enough for the guy to see stars for two days. “Ada?”

His heart missed a beat.

He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the singer’s head.

“Drop this.”

The woman didn’t both turning to address him a glance. She had the gun in hand, the one that didn’t shoot bullets, but needles. But she wasn’t aiming it at Ada.

She was aiming it at her own chest.

“Whatever you’re about to do, don’t do it.” he ordered, and his finger was against the trigger, and he didn’t have a clue as to what was going to happen if she decided to press it but he didn’t want to see, didn’t want another outbreak to happen, didn’t want to fight through another, live through another, lose through another. “Drop the gun and I’ll drop mine, understood?”

The woman’s lips quivered. Not in fear, though. No, it wasn’t fear, because she was staring straight at Ada whose posture meant a fight, and her brows were drawn together, and her eyes shot fire. There was a past there.

“You working with them now?” the singer asked in a low voice. The accent was rough. “Fuck you, Wong. I thought you were best than that.”

“Drop it, now!” Leon shouted.

The woman ignored him again.

“I guess this man will do.”

Ada jumped.

She twisted the gun in the woman’s hands as two triggers were pressed. Brains splashed on the beautiful drapes of the stage decor, and Ada looked in horror at the needle between her breasts.

The singer’s body fell with a lifeless thud.

He breathed out.

He'd just killed a person.

“Leon.” Ada said.

He looked at her. Her eyes were a kaleidoscope. It shattered, pummeled to the ground with the sound of broken glass. Then Leon’s eyes widened as the air left his lungs, all of a sudden, and his brain cracked open as reality seemed to wrap all around them, bending and elongating and so fucking loud he swore it was like drums, or heartbeats, kicking and slapping at his skull in an erratic rhythm. Then it all snapped back into place so disorientingly fast and the last thing he felt before passing out was his body pitching forward into the dark.

ー*ー

Ada woke up to someone insistently shaking her shoulder; she felt heavy and groggy, fireworks still danced behind her eyelids, and her back hurt, like she’d fallen off a ledge and hadn’t had the time to twist her body and land on her feet. Someone was insistently shaking her shoulder, and she assumed it was an ally, because the odds of a foe making sure she was alive before killing her were close to none; they often were smart enough to think about riddling her chest with bullets before the shaking was brought up.

There was something with her body. It was a weight, misplaced and missing. Her chest felt empty but at the same time wider, and her pants were tight around her thighs, oddly pressed against her crotch in a way that couldn’t be comfortable... (and she should know the feeling, Ada’s favorite fabrics were leather and silk). Then she realized that she hadn’t been wearing pants before she got knocked out. The only logical explanation was someone undressing her in her sleep without her consent. 

Foe it was.

Eyes shooting open, Ada swept the feet off the person above her, sprung up in a roll. Oddly, she miscalculated her strength and sent herself way further from her opponent than she had intended. She must have fallen on her head, and from higher than anticipated. Originally going for hand-to-hand, she resorted to facing the man…

… who was no other than newly-DSO agent Helena Harper.

“What the hell?” Helena said, obviously pissed as she struggled to go back to her feet. “Jesus, Leon, it’s me! Send me a warning next time you try to break my ankles.”

Ada breathed out.

“Whー” she said, and she couldn’t get rid of this weight, both lacking and extra, and her back hurt like a bitch, and her head hurt like a  _ bitch _ . Her vision troubled for a second and she brought a hand to her forehead, flinching and brushing against the strand of blond hair that fell in front of her right eye…

Why was her hair blonde?

“Whoa, Leon, are you alright?”

Helena had gotten closer, close enough to invade Ada’s space, worry overriding her surprise and her anger from the unexpected betrayal.

“What happened?” Ada asked, slowly.

The voice was shaking.

Her fingers did too. 

She took a step back, away from Helena… away from that deep, gruff, alien but oh-so familiar voice that came out of her.

Helena inched closer. Again, Ada kept her distance. They weren’t friends. They barely knew each other. This wasn’t meant to happen.

“I figured you’d know, since you and Ada both passed out… you’re lucky I got to you before the team did.”

This wasn’t meant to happen!

“Ada—“ Ada repeated, in a murmur, in the voice that wasn’t hers, then her eye caught on someone  _ and she found herself _ .

It was her body, unmistakably. It was her body that was on the ground, still out cold or maybe dead, for all she knew. It was her body that she suddenly was leaning to, that she was moving up to and kneeling to, that she  _ touched _ , just to feel if it was real…

It was her body.

The floor was solid, ice cold, rock hard against her knees. Her skin was hot, the skin of her body on the floor was hot between her palms, almost burning like running a hell of a fever. No dream. All true. All of it, all of what she read and hoped wasn’t.

_ Fuck _ .

Then her head exploded into pain and she brought the hands up, cradling her skull as she pitched forward, rendered half blind half voiceless. Except these weren’t her hands. Except this wasn’t her head. Her limbs were longer, and bigger, and wider, and everything felt alien and too thick, and too hot. She was suffocating. She clapped a hand to her mouth and she felt a little bit of stubble there — out of the many faces she’d worn, she’d never had a man’s.

At this point, Helena’s worry had turned into mild panic.

“Leon? Tell me what’s going on! Is it the needle? Is it what was in it??”

“Ugh.” Ada said eloquently.

“If it’s a virus we’re going to find a cure, I swear to y—“

“Shut up, agent Harper, shut that mouth before I sew it myself.”

Helena’s eyes widened with the shock. Granted, Ada probably shouldn’t have been so blunt. But put yourself in her shoes for a second: she wasn’t in hers, and was deeply unsettled by this situation. She was allowed a little outburst from time to time, especially when it didn’t happen every Wednesday.

Not that it’d happen again, of course. Ada had this carefully built facade of a very composed woman, and this wall sure as hell wasn’t going to crack again.

She looked back down to her body on the dance floor. At last, her bruised brain started to put the pieces together ー the male clothes she was wearing, the longer limbs, the height and the weight, foreign but familiar… and then the body at her feet stirred and opened its eyes.

“Leon?” she murmured, quiet and hopeful.

Her body winced. It grunted in such un an-Ada way that she instantly knew it was him.

Ada watched as her body struggled its way into a sitting position, watched as it looked down on itself, fingers going for the fabric of the dress then going up to its face, its hair, its lips, eyes widening as the fingers came back reddened with lipstick, cheeks pink like rosé when its hands accidentally brushed against its chest.

When Not-Ada looked up at Ada, she didn’t recognize herself in her own eyes. She had never seen her face look so small, and fragile, and scared, and she couldn’t translate it to anything she could remember seeing on Leon either. She knew her man, she knew him as he was hers, so the next word that came out of her mouth was just his name again, just to make sure.

“Leon?”

Her own face stared back at her. It gave a jerky nod.

“Ada.” Leon said back and it was a female voice, but deeper, and raspier. “Just making sure, but ー this is definitely not normal, is it?”

“It’s not.” Ada said, careful. “It’s not supposed to happen.”

“Okay. Yeah. We need to do something about it.”

“Tell me more.” Ada deadpanned. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Hey, don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“This faceless look, the one you’re saving when you’re pretending, and it doesn’t look good on me, so, quit it.”

“Excuse me,” Helena spoke up, and they both turned around, “what the  _ fuck _ is going on?”

“You’re asking us?” Leon muttered, and he stood up, although  _ trying _ to stand up was more like it. Ada and Helena ended up helping him as he twisted his ankles with Ada’s high heels. Annoyed, he kept a grip on Helena’s bicep for his first steps.

“You’re small.” he finally said like he’d just noticed.

Ada blinked.

“I’m a woman.” she replied sharply with her man voice.

“I know women who are tall.” he replied, and her nostrils flared.

“I’m sorry, what?” Helena shouted and Leon’s ankle painfully gave out.

“For fuck’s ー  _ fuck it _ .” and he fell back onto the floor and proceeded to yank on his high heels. His eyes narrowed onto the black clasp that held the shoes and his sanity together into a very weak lock.

Ada hissed.

“Don’t even think about it.”

He looked up at her, half-angry, half-disoriented. “What the hell am I supposed to do, keep ‘em on and trip over myself like a dumbass?”

Ada leaned to his height on the floor. Looking straight into her own, green eyes, she gave him a tight-lipped fake smile, an information, and a warning:

“Those Guccis could have easily cost four months worth of rent off your government-paid little apartment, Leon. Yes, you  _ will  _ keep my heels on, and you  _ will _ treat them the way they ought to be.” She flashed him a set of teeth. No joy. “Expensive.”

He looked at her as though she’d sprouted another head, or, and that was probably more like it, as though he’d just realized she was wearing his face.

“I just… moved ー you know where I live?”

Her turn to gape, gobsmacked.

“You’ve never been hard to track. It’s even easier than chasing after an elephant in a china shop.”

“It’s like you’re the one chasing me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you could stand still for two seconds without spitting insults, maybe we could have worked something out. Now here we are. Both cornered.”

Helena’s hand shot forward, catching them both off guard. Ada would be lying if she said she hadn’t forgotten that Helena was there. Apparently, the agent hadn’t taken that omission very well.

“Agent Kennedy, Wong,” she growled with a jaw clenched to the point of it looking painful, “with all my fucking respect, shut the fuck up. You,” and she pointed at Ada, who shot her back an annoyed glance, “are not Leon. And you,” and this time it was Leon’s turn, and he looked at the ground with something like embarrassment that looked off on Ada’s face, “clearly are not Ada.”

“Took you long enough.” Ada mocked, crossing her arms over her now non-existant chest, God rest its soul. “Hello, agent Harper.”

Awkward on his heels, Leon slowly stood up.

“‘s Leon.” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I got that.” Helena snapped, and Leon did a grimace; again, something foreign on Ada’s features. She wasn’t sure she liked such transparency very much. “How did this happen? How did you two… switch  _ bodies _ ? How does anyone switch bodies, anyway…”

“We’re on it.” Leon said.

“No you’re not, you’re too busy arguing about bullshit when we got more pressing matters at hand.”

“You’ve never been patient.” he threw like a punchline.

“And you’re never putting yourself first.”

“Agent Harper has a point.” Ada said.

Helena did a violent U-turn. “Don’t try me.”

To which Ada uncrossed her arms and said: “Stop me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t I First Most Wanted in the United States two years ago? Surely the news of my death would have brought a respite to the accusations… but I believe we should leave, just in case, before anyone from your team calls my presence in.” She glanced at Leon, gave a short, humorless smile. “Unless Leon is willing to pay the price. He’s the one in my body, after all.”

“Fuck.” Helena said. “Fuck.”

“I figured.”

“Yeah, we better get going.” Leon translated. “Then we’ll figure out how to fix this.”

“Sure.”

Helena shook herself off like a dog. She’d make a decent labrador. “Alright. Follow me. I know how to steer clear of the team.”

Ada calmly straightened the bowtie around her neck. It was no different from the chokers she was used to wear, though not her style, so she wasn’t as disoriented as…

Leon clumsily kicked at the dress and stuck close to Helena’s shadow, looking incredibly red in the face. He brought his hands up to the low-cut on the dress, quickly squeezed them around his arms then dropped them again, seeming unsure of how to walk and how to be in general.  _ Cute _ , Ada thought, as she watched herself try going down the stairs without taking a tumble.

“Need any help, sweetie?” she asked, taunting at him as she briskly passed by him. He gripped the handrail as a look of fear flew over his face.

“No.” he still said, as obtuse as she was, and that was why she liked him so much. “How do you do this? Why do you do this?”

She waited for him at the bottom of the stairs, watching him struggle with a hand on her hip and a smirk on her lip.

“A small price to pay to sleep with you.”

He paused and stared at her. Shook his head.

Gripped the handrail again and continued his descent.

“That time is in the past.”

She chuckled. “Come on, Leon. Just because we haven’t seen each other in months 一”

“Do I really need to refresh your memory, Ada?”

His head had tilted to the side, and his eyes had hardened, like cruel, like heartless, like… like hers.

The sight of her own body, of the man she loved trapped inside it, mimicking to perfection the mask of her own craft? She’d rather go back to the neverending display of bare emotions that he marked her face with better than a target.  _ Bang.  _ It made her flinch and stop, and think, about what he’d turned into, about what she’d made him turn into.

Where had Leon gone? This naive, optimist, hero-complex sufferer of a boy who’d grown too quick in order to survive? Surely he hadn’t gone far. No one ever truly changed forever.

_ Do I need to refresh your memory? _

“You don’t.” Ada replied.

She ran her fingertips across the male jaw she wore, the scratchy hair there. When she’d met him for the first time twenty years ago, he had pretty much been prepubescent. Then there’d been a slow, but noticeable change over the years. She remembered once, maybe four years ago before the Tall Oaks incident, breaking in his apartment through the window to cover his feverish body with clean sheets. He had had an empty bottle of whisky by his head, and a three inches beard. The hair had been a mix of blond and grey. She hadn’t liked it.

Leon called out for her.

“Need any help?”

She didn’t.

They fell back into silence as Helena lead the way, securing an area before rushing them to follow. She could feel Leon boil at her side, and it was a funny sight, and a cute one, and a scary one all at the same time, because she’d never seen Leon truly lash out, just like he never saw her snap. This pinched her curiosity. (But Ada wasn’t the one asking questions just like she wasn’t the one who answered them.)

“It’s clear.” Helena said, lowering her gun and hiding it in the holster under her vest. Leon and Ada followed her out into the street. The distant echo of police sirens came to their ears, and Ada’s robber instinct kicked in. “I’ve got a car in the hotel’s parking. You could take it and drive away to safety, I can come up with an excuse for the DSO for a day.”

“Will you be okay?” Leon asked.

Helena sharply nodded. “I’ll manage. Now go. And find a way to fix this.”

Ada thought that seeing everything from Leon’s perspective would have been brighter.

It wasn’t.

She took her spot behind the wheel. Leon disgracefully took his shotgun. They fell back into this routine, awkward and tense, filled with unsaid, that belonged to them. Ada didn’t like it, but she sure was used to it, and she’d never been a woman of change. Not when feelings got in the way.


End file.
